Returning Home
by like.totally.80s
Summary: A fic about Steve off in Vietnam. Training to fight, and how he feels going through all of it. This in my First story. Random One-shot.


**"Why are you here?"** It was the first question they asked when we arrived for training. The answers varied. Some were drafted. Others had no other options. One or two actually wanted to be there, ready to serve. Ready to take on anything thrown their way. I guess you could say I fit into the first category, and the last for that matter. Originally, I was drafted, they were sending me to training, and shipping me off to 'Nam a few weeks later. Rather than being mad at the world or depressed like most, I felt ready. Hell, I've been ready for this day for years now, and I'm finally old enough. Ever since I was young, I've been drawn to fights. It started with small fistfights as a kid, with minor injuries. Small bruises. Busted lips. For these, my overly protective parents grounded me. In years to come, fights escalated, and so did the injuries. Small bruises turned to deep purple splotches covering the majority of my arms and rib cage. The occasional busted nose or cracked rib. By this time, my mom had died in an auto wreck, and my "dad" was usually to drunk to care. During one of the rare times when I came home and he happened to be sober, he only added to the bruising I already had.

There was nothing left for me there, only the few friends I had made, but we were close. They were my family. Real family I mean. My dad doesn't count, at one point he did, but he never will again. These guys are about all I have too come back to; their memories are one of the only things keeping me going. Remembering the jokes told, games played, victories in rumbles we thought there was no chance we had of winning, but somehow miraculously pulled through. My family would be the only thing worthwhile to return home to.

I don't deny it, despite what I'm leaving there; I feel there is another thing keeping me here. Another reason for me to be here. I want to fight for the country that gave me everything.

**06:00 HOURS, WEEK 1 THROUGH 19:00 HOURS, WEEK 7: TRAINING**

First week of training, and I've already seen images that will haunt me for years to come. Pictures of US Soldiers. Some still fighting, sturdy on two feet, or as sturdy as you can be running and shooting the enemy from 30 feet away. Most of the pictures are men on the ground, trampled in mud. The only thing useful to recognize them now would be their dog tags, because the rest of their bodies were mauled in unforgettable ways. Bleeding from multiple gun shot wounds, and soaked down to the bone in their own blood, and the blood of their fellow soldiers laying inches away in the matted weeds. Some had snapped necks, and limbs twisted into odd angles, you couldn't replicate them if you tried.

By the second day at camp, they were teaching us to fire our guns. By the third, it was learning to snap a neck cleanly and swiftly. By the end of the first week, my unit of eight could take apart and assemble almost any type of gun perfectly and in record time. In the six weeks following, we trained hard each day, and each day it was a new weapon, or a new way to dismember an enemy soldier. Along with brutal killing methods, we learned how to survive. We were taught how to expertly camouflage ourselves, apply medical attention to slow bleeding or fix mild injuries, and what gear to use in order to complete a mission most effectively.

My division excelled way past the others. We left them in the dust within the first three weeks, and by week seven, were without doubt ready for live action and combat. The next day, we were transferred to a new base in Vietnam, just south of the action.

**23:00 HOURS, WEEK 7, DAY 4: BACK TO BASE**

It's dark, and an eerie silence has crept over our small hidden base on the southern most area of the country. The only audible noise is our night watch, pacing the grounds outside our tents.

None of my unit feels safe any longer. For the past three days, we watched the ones we had grown close with get slaughtered. We're now down to six men, along with the other units transferred with us. In all, we have about 60 men. But 60 is not gonna be enough. We can tell already. They say reinforcements are coming as quick as they could transport them from the US, but we know they wont be here in time. We are going back to battle tomorrow morning at 02:00 hours. We have a plan to storm a village 30 degrees north of our camp, but with only 60 of us remaining, we know we are going to fail. Miserably. As in, there's no hope for this mission. I can tell our commander knows this just as well as we do. Hell, he probably knew when we got here there wouldn't be enough of us by the time it was time for this mission.

The radio in our tent beeps once filling the air with the echo of the static, then a second time, signaling that it was our time to get ready and report to the commander, who will go over our plans and positions for the last time.

Silently, we prepare for what's to come. I can already see the group of soldiers forming as I step from our tent into the moist early morning. It's warm already, and I can feel tiny droplets of rain already staring to fall, because it's early June, close to the start of the rainy season here.

After reviewing for the last time what was to happen, we started making our way into the thick, dense forest. I dart from tree to tree, following the first few members I have left of my unit. We run for about an hour in silence through the clouded forest, treading softly on the damp earth, guns in hand. We fall into position as the village grows closer. I go through my assignment in my head. _Phase 1: Follow the commander in silently. Phase 2: Make your way to the northern most edge of the village. Phase 3: Take out any guards that stand in your way. Phase 4: place explosives in designated point. Phase 5: Get the hell out of there before we blow the enemies supplies to bits._

In about two minutes, Phase 1 commences. We shoot from our hiding spot behind the growth. Starting on Phase 2, I can already tell something is wrong. The commander stops right smack in the middle of an open area, something we are taught _never_ to do. I now realize why. We are completely surrounded by Vietnamese Soldiers, every gun trained on our small unit.

_No_, I thought, _this can't happen now_. I can tell my unit is having the exact same thought as I am. As if it was prepared like that, we all leap forward towards our original goal, firing at the enemy. But not all of us make it. Two fall dead in front of me, one behind, blood already seeping from the gaping wounds. The bullets tore through them, leaving blood to seep through, turning the once white tank tops a crimson red. I wish I could stop. Tell them it's going to be okay. But I can't. My body betrays me. It keeps going despite the fact my mind screams at it to stop. Part of me is still on track, keeping the rest of it in check as I feel the sanity slowly leaving me. From about 16 feet away, I launch my bundle of explosives near my intended target, knowing full well I wouldn't have time to make it there while being chased down.

A shower of bullets rain down from above, peppering my back, and taking out the remaining members of my team.

I fall to the ground, landing in the mud created by weeks of rainfall. It splatters all over my face. I stay face down, not wanting to even survey the damage done by the bullets. The pain is excruciating, and completely taking over my body by this point. I can't move. I know I'm going to die.

Lying in the mud, my thoughts meander back home. Back to my family, my best friends. I imagine their reaction when they get the letter the military sends them, relaying the news of my death. They feel despair, sorrow. I can feel all of this with them. Not because of my dying, for them. I know they felt the same way about me as I did them, and it would be hard of them. But I don't want them to feel that. They have enough problems of their own, I shouldn't be another. I give each a silent farewell. I will miss them.

My mind works its way back to reality. I can hear shouting of our troops for medic help, and the sound of the explosives go off, signaling the mission was a success. This though is another that brings my mind to peace. I know the medics will be no help. I'm too far-gone, nothing can bring me back, and I'm okay with that fact. I've done all I can. I can finally accept that I've done at least one good thing with my life, even if I don't make it back home like I had hoped.

These are the last thoughts that floated through my head as I permit myself to let go and set my mind at ease. I smile faintly as I sink deeper into the blackness consuming what's left of my sanity, and my life.


End file.
